Teaching

 
Suki Schorer's delicate frame and perky attitude seem to blend with the advanced students she’s instructing at the School of American Ballet. Buzzing from body to body, she pokes at dancers’ disengaged muscles, lengthens their limbs and challenges their musicality. Out of the hour-and-a-half class, she sits for maybe 20 seconds—only during center work does she lean on the teacher’s chair at the front of the classroom (and not for long) before springing up to offer a correction.
 

“You know, I don’t even know why,” says Virginie Mécène, artistic director of Graham II and director of the Martha Graham School of Contemporary Dance, with alaugh, “but when I was dancing, I kept all the numbers I got from all the auditions I did.”
 

There’s a calmness about Tina LeBlanc as she stands in the middle of the studio surrounded by students moving through a combination. With her feet planted apart and arms akimbo, she glances from side to side at the young dancers as they carefully release the barre in a relevé combination. She shakes her head and a grin crawls across her face. As they finish, she declares, “Aw, you guys are chicken,” and then rolls up a pant leg to mimic a tentative, creeping release of the barre. Laughing, she says, “No. You have to just go for it!”
 

Until about 30 years ago, there were firm do-not-cross lines drawn between the various ballet techniques. Russian dancers, trained in Vaganova technique, didn’t touch Balanchine’s American style; Danish dancers, trained in Bournonville technique, stayed away from Vaganova.

If you’ve ever taught a jazz class, chances are you’ve demonstrated elements of Luigi’s jazz—the iconic épaulement with an outstretched, reaching arm, or the low, crossed fourth position with the upper torso bent forward. Dancers of many disciplines flock to study Luigi’s style (including celebrities like Ann Reinking, Susan Stroman, Liza Minnelli and John Travolta). It’s grounded like modern, elegant like ballet and rhythmic like tap. And most of all, the style’s crisp movement qualities give practitioners the control and power necessary to master any piece of choreography with grace.

Arriving to teach at a summer intensive in Portland, Oregon, Zachary Carroll was caught by surprise: He discovered that he would be leading a beginner pointe class for 10- and 11-year-old girls. Carroll had an extensive career as a ballet dancer and teacher, but he certainly had no experience dancing on pointe, let alone teaching it. Before panicking, he called his wife (also a former dancer and teacher) for advice.

Brooke Lipton has packed a lot of dance into her 32 years. The driven redhead scored her first gig when she was 12—a pediatric AIDS benefit headlined by Paula Abdul—and has since become a force to be reckoned with, most recently as associate choreographer on the smash hit TV show “Glee.” She’s worked with Janet Jackson, Madonna and Beyoncé, and toured with Britney Spears. With faculty positions at Hollywood Connection and The PULSE On Tour conventions, Lipton may keep the schedule of a workaholic, but she does it all with the heart of a teacher.
 

Symbols of the holiday season in New York City, the Radio City Rockettes are, not surprisingly,  role models for many young girls around the country. They’re extremely skilled dancers whose poise and old-school elegance are rare these days. And while it’s often a dancer’s dream to don sparkly tights and bright-red lipstick and perform eye-high kicks at Radio City Music Hall, the height requirement is strict—5' 6"–5' 10.5"—and competition is stiff.

A former soloist with a rising reputation as a results-oriented ballet teacher is invited to teach her first master class, and dozens of students travel from all over to participate. But she leads them from plié to grand allegro in the same methodical, progressive format she uses in her regular classes. As the students and their parents pack up to leave, two girls can be heard complaining that the class felt routine. “I got bored,” says one. “Yeah, I thought it was supposed to be special,” laments the other.
 

Who’s the short guy at the front of the classroom with the springboard jump, permanent high spirits, muscular technique and insatiable stamina? It’s Daniel Ulbricht, principal dancer with New York City Ballet. Ulbricht is widely renowned for his electrifying presence onstage. What isn’t so well-known is his talent for teaching—and his remarkable drive to do so.